


My Dear, Dearest Darling

by Rinzler



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/pseuds/Rinzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in between hours spent together working cases, analyzing swabs and listening to that trash Greg calls music, Nick seems to have fallen completely, utterly and hopelessly in love with the lab technician. What's a CSI to do?</p><p>Well, try and court Greg, of course.</p><p>Title taken from the song 'My Dear, Dearest Darling' by The Five Willows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s Friday, the day before the extra-long weekend Greg has set up with his unused vacation days to last until Tuesday when he opens his locker to find a bouquet of red, red roses.

He doesn’t exactly think anything of it. At least, not right away. It’s not the first time someone has put flowers in his locker by mistake- it’s right in the middle of a group of gorgeous, female lab techs who all work days. So sometimes someone screws up, and Greg finds cards, chocolate, and even flowers. The flowers and cards he’ll leave in the break room or tacked to the the bulletin board, and depending on how bad of a day he’s had, he’ll either take the chocolate or toss it in the break room as well.

It happens all the time, especially near the holidays. Last Valentine’s was the worst. He got a total of six deliveries of various gifts, including a pair of diamond earrings, which he’d been severely tempted to keep. Any boyfriend who couldn’t put five minutes towards figuring out which locker belonged to his girlfriend clearly didn’t deserve her. But he hadn’t, and had instead tracked down the jeweller’s, then the itemized purchase, then the name of the buyer, and had turned up on his doorstep to hand-deliver them back.

Anyways, at this point, he is so over it. The fact that he didn’t have anyone special to spend Valentine’s with only added to the hurt.

It’s also been over thirty-six hours since Greg has had any sleep, and he didn’t exactly get all that much- he was out clubbing until way later than planned on his free Wednesday, so he stumbled into the lab on Thursday running on caffeine. Now it’s Friday, he’s depleted his coffee supply while struggling to stay awake during what had become a double shift, he can’t listen to his music at all because of his killer headache, and the walls themselves are starting to spin.

So he just reaches into his locker, pulls the vase out, and sets it on the floor. Then he pulls off his (totally ruined, thanks, Grissom) lab coat and tosses it into the nearby bio-disposal container, pulls off his dirty long-sleeved patterned shirt, and pulls on a plain blue tee shirt. Then he sits on the bench and starts checking his backpack. Once he goes home and crashes on his bed, he’s not coming back for anything, so he needs to make sure he has all of his stuff now.

He’s finished and is standing up, slinging one backpack strap over his shoulder and finally ready to go when Warrick enters the locker room and does a double-take. “Whoa, man!”

Greg turns to look at what Warrick is staring at, and he sees the bouquet sitting on the floor next to his locker.

“Oh, thanks, Warrick. I forgot about that. I’ll drop it off in the break room on my way out,” he says, leaning down and picking it up. He turns around to see Warrick staring at him, looking confused.

“You mean it’s not yours?”

“Oh, probably not,” Greg says ruefully. “My locker is surrounded by those of hot women. It’s just another gift to one of them that got stuck in my locker by accident.”

“Shouldn’t you check for a tag or something?” Warrick says.

Greg holds the vase up to him and rotates it side-to-side. “There is no tag.”

"So what makes you think it’s not yours?”

Greg lets out a sigh, the strain of the last few days catching up to him all at once. He’s too tired to answer that question with anything but blatant honesty. “You want to be realistic here? Every time I’ve gotten a gift in my locker it’s been for someone else. Every time, Warrick. I’ve given up hoping that that’s going to change. Besides, there’s no one here who would get flowers for me. Especially not flowers as nice as these,” he murmurs absently, running his fingertips across the top of one particularly red rose.

There's a moment of stilted, awkward silence, as Warrick stares at Greg and Greg stares morosely at the bouquet.

“Anyway, bye Warrick!” Greg says with false brightness, and exits the locker room. Warrick watches him walk down the hallway and into the break room and set the vase on the table. Greg spends a moment arranging the flowers with a wistful look on his face, then turns and walks out of the lab, yawning as he goes.

Warrick pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hits speed dial three as Greg's backpack disappears around the corner, leaving no trace of the lab rat but a bunch of roses that don't seem as beautiful as they were a moment ago.

“Hey, Nick? Yeah, I just figured I should probably break the bad news to you before you got back to the lab...”


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty-six miles away in a convenience store just off the Strip, CSI Level 3 Nicholas Stokes stares at the phone in his hand in confusion before bringing it back up to his ear.

“He just put them in the break room?”

“Yeah, man. Spent a moment arranging them, though, so at least he knew they were nice. And he did look really sad, you know, over the fact that they weren't meant for him.”

“What do you mean they weren't meant for him? They were meant for him! They were in his locker!”

“There was no card and no note, Nick.”

“But they were in his locker! His personal locker! Doesn't that make them obviously his?”

“Nick, he told me all the lockers around his belong to hot chicks and he accidentally gets gifts meant for them all the time. He thought this was another screw-up. And it doesn't help that no one at the lab is really close to Greg, either.”

“Oh.”

“'Oh' is right, man. Remind me again who told you it would be a good idea to put some kind of a card on there? You know, any kind of card? At all?”

“... You did.”

“Uh-huh.”

There's a moment of silence. Nick lowers his phone and pulls off his baseball cap, swiping one arm across his forehead with a deep sigh. Then he puts the cap back on and surveys the room he's supposed to be processing. With another sigh, he brings the phone back up and cradles it between his shoulder and ear, bending down to his kit and pulling out a pair of latex gloves.

“Look, Warrick, thanks for calling. I gotta go now, I'm in a convenience store off the Strip. Homicide. DB looks like the store manager.”

“Alright. See you when you get back here.”

“Bye.”

Nick reaches up with one gloved hand and flips his phone shut, shoving it into his pocket with far more force than necessary. He lets out a groan and drops his face into his hands.

“Son of a gun,” comes a quiet, despairing mutter. “What do I do now?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Catherine!”

Catherine Willows, currently ensconced under a couple hundred pounds of metal in the lab garage, only calls back “Yeah?”

A pair of strong hands grasp the roller she’s balanced precariously on, and she barely has time to drop her hands from the brake line she was examining before one smooth tug pulls her out from under the truck. She blinks, taking a moment to adjust to the bright light, then looks at the face above her. “What is it, Nick?”

Nick just shoots her a sheepish grin in reply, lifting one hand up to rub at the back of his neck, in a classic gesture of nervousness. Then he holds it out, palm up. She grasps his hand and allows herself to be hauled to her feet.

“So, uh, what’d you find on the truck?” Nick asks.

“Nothing yet,” Catherine replies, walking over to the nearby table and dropping the orange safety glasses she was wearing on its surface. “I’ve done a preliminary sweep, but so far I can’t find any evidence that this truck ever carried firearms. I’ve got no gunpowder, no burn marks, no oil, no cartridge casings, nada.”

“If you’re looking for firearms, why were you checking under the truck?”

“Figured that maybe the truck had been cleaned, or was cleaned with some regularity. I was checking the underside in case they missed a spot,” Catherine replies, tugging her hair out of its ponytail so it spills loose around her shoulders. Then she turns and stares at Nick curiously. “Why? I thought you switched off this case to work the drugs bust one with Warrick.”

“I did,” Nick says, staring down at his shoes. One hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck again. “This is about...something else.”

“Are you in trouble, Nick?” Catherine says suddenly. Nick’s head whips up and he stares at her, jaw dropping.

“No!”

“Then why are you so nervous?” Catherine asks, leaning against the table and crossing her arms. Nick glances down at the floor again and shuffles his feet a little before he clears his throat and speaks.

“I, uh, wanted your advice on something. I thought you’d be the best person to ask.”

“Spit it out.”

“It’s, well, uh, I need ideas on how to show someone that I, uh. Like them. In a romantic way.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Nick looks up to see Catherine staring at him with a smile.

“So, you need advice on how to get a girl?” She says.

“Something like that,” Nick replies with a nervous laugh.

“What, she wasn’t hooked on the big brown doe eyes and the charming southern accent?”

“Cath! What- what doe eyes? I do not have doe eyes! Why are you laughing- CATH!”

Halfway down the hallway, Greg stops and stares at the garage doors and the scene beyond in confusion. Nick is pinwheeling his arms around and looking flustered, saying something, while a laughing Catherine is clinging onto a table to hold herself up.

That’s weird, he thought they weren’t working a case together.

He shrugs and continues on as Nick drops his head into his hands with a groan and Catherine slides down to the floor, positively cackling.


	4. Chapter 4

“You know, I had no idea that there was an all-day breakfast place this close to the lab,” Catherine says, poking at her milkshake with a straw. “How’d you find it?”

Catherine and Nick are sitting in two bar stools along a long, high counter, which is placed against a wall composed only of glass- a giant window, running the whole length of the diner. There must be twenty empty seats around them, and the window’s enormous and overlooks the street from intersection to intersection.

Nick stirs his coffee with a spoon before taking a sip and setting the mug back down. “You remember that fraternity pledging case Sara and I had a while ago?”

Catherine, sitting on his left overlooking the street, nods. “Yeah, where a kid was killed because he had the leader’s girlfriend help him out and the other guy got angry?”

Nick shrugs. “Sort of. Anyway, it just got me thinkin’ about all stuff fraternities actually do. I mean, back when I was in college, didn’t seem like there was anythin’ wrong with it, you know? But then I look at a case like that and I’m just like, my god, how messed up are teenagers these days? So I just started walkin’ and eventually I wound up here. Been back a couple of times since, I’m pretty much a regular.” Nick nods at a passing waitress. “Hey there, Miss Marie.”

“Hey, Stokes!” Comes the peppy reply. “Need a refill yet?”

“Not for a little while,” Nick says. “But I know who to call when I do. You make the best darn coffee in this place.”

Marie laughs. “Quit flattering me like that, Stokes, I got rounds to do.”

“Of course,” Nick says, tipping an imaginary hat as Marie walks past and towards another corner of the diner.

Catherine takes a few more sips of her milkshake. “Mmm. So, we’re talking here because people are less likely to interrupt us?”

“Interrupt you doing what?” Comes a familiar voice from over Nick’s right shoulder. “Oooh, milkshakes.”

Catherine and Nick both turn around. “Sara? What are you doing here?” Nick asks.

Sara shrugs and sits down on the bar stool on Nick’s right. “Saw you two talking from across the street. I had no idea that this place was here,” she says, looking around the room. Then she turns to look at Nick expectantly. “So, interrupting what?”

Catherine snorts. “Not Nick’s love life.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

Nick coughs. “It’s kind of, um, private, Sara, and I’m pretty sure it’s not really something you’d know how to handle,” he says. Sara’s one-track mind and extreme commitment to the job are known from Vegas to San Francisco, and while that focus is good on a case, Nick’s not so sure he wants it directed at him.

“What did that even mean?” Nick hisses at Catherine, turning to glare at her. Catherine just smiles and sips her milkshake.

“Well, can I help?” Sara asks, undeterred. “And what’s with the comment about your love life?”

“I don’t think-” Nick begins, before he’s cut off by Catherine. 

“We should tell her. The whole lab is going to find out soon enough anyways. Besides, you need as much help as you can get.

“He’s kind of hopeless,” Catherine continues, leaning around Nick to face Sara and ignoring the slashing motions Nick is frantically making with his hands. “So, this is what’s going on…”

Five minutes of explanations and one milkshake delivery later, Sara knows everything, and is staring at Nick with something akin to shock.

“What?” Nick says.

Sara just shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. But seriously, out of all the people in the lab that you could’ve fallen for, you chose Greg? Greg Sanders?”

“I didn’t choose to fall for him!” Nick protests. “It just sort of happened!”

“What just sort of happened?” comes another familiar voice. A hand lands on Nick’s shoulder and he jumps about a foot in the air, sloshing coffee from his half-empty cup onto the bar. 

“Grissom?” Says Catherine, sounding shocked. “What are you doing here?”

Sara and Nick both spin around on their stools to see their boss standing directly behind them, glasses and all. Nick groans. 

“Is everything okay, Nick?” Grissom asks, not unkindly. Nick just sighs and turns back to his coffee, staring dejectedly at the spilled liquid. 

“Not really, Griss, but thanks for asking.”

“Well, perhaps I could help?”

Nick opens his mouth to respond, but Catherine beats him to the punch. “No offense, Grissom, but I think matters of the heart are a little beyond your jurisdiction.”

Grissom raises an eyebrow.

Five minutes of explanations, one coffee refill and one milkshake delivery later, Grissom knows everything, and is staring at Nick with the same forceful observation he normally uses on his bugs.

“What?” Nick says.

Grissom just shakes his head. “It’s nothing, Nick. I was just thinking how this reflects similar situations in nature, where the male of a species is attracted to the brighter, attention-catching female and attempts to court them.”

“So I guess that means we’re making Greg into the woman in this situation,” Sara says idly as Nick grumbles “Are you saying I’m boring?” into his coffee.

Catherine laughs. “Your best idea was a bunch of flowers, Nick. I think that qualifies as boring.”

“Quiet, you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, Greg?” Sara says, leaning in the open doorway to the DNA lab.

On the other side of the lab and across his desk, Greg looks up from the sample he’s currently processing. “Yeah?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

There’s a moment of dead silence. Greg blinks slowly at Sara, single-use pipette forgotten in his hand. “No…..?” He says slowly, turning it into more of a question than an answer.

“Good,” she replies.

They kept staring at each other for a moment longer, Greg with his face scrunched up in adorable confusion, and Sara- well. Sara staring at him like she was trying to read his mind. To passerby, it would probably look more like a death glare.

Then Sara spins on her heel and exits the lab without another word, leaving Greg standing there, pipette dripping concentrated sulfuric acid onto the lab table.

“Sara?” He calls after her hesitantly. “Sara- are you-” Then he hears the sound of something hissing and looked down to see the acid burning through the edge of one of his lab result papers. “OH SHI-”

 

……….

 

“Hey Greg?” Warrick calls, slouching against the open doorway to the DNA lab.

On the other side of the lab, hunched over one of the lab tables, Greg looks up from the sample he’s currently processing. “Yeah?”

“Are you free Friday night?”

Greg blinks. Glances at the pipette in his hand and puts it down on the table. Then blinks again. “Yes…..?” He says slowly, turning it into more of a question than an answer.

“You want to come hang out with the rest of night shift for a couple drinks? It’s Mandy’s birthday, she didn’t really want a party, just wanted to chill,” Warrick says, waving one hand around lazily.

Greg shrugs and looks down at his work again. “Sure, as long as some of the other lab techs are going.”

“Cool, man. I’ll pick you up at eight from your place. Wear something nice in dark colors. None of this psychedelic shirts crap.”

“Sure- wait, what?” Greg says incredulously, head snapping up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. “ How do you know where I- Warrick?”

The other man is already gone.

“I like my shirts,” Greg mutters half-despondently and half-irritably to himself, hunching over his lab table once again. “They’re cool.”

 

……….

 

“Hey Greg?” Catherine calls, standing in the doorway to the DNA lab.

Greg jerks his head up from where he’d been slouched in front of the computer, slowly plugging in numbers for the machine to run in order to get an exact composition on a sample. “Yeah?”

“Can you come by the break room when you’re done here?” Catherine says.

Greg glances at the clock. “Catherine, my shift is over in… ten minutes. What do you need me for now?” He says, sounding confused.

Catherine sighs. “Just come by the break room, please.” Then she turns around and walks out.

Greg swivels his chair back around so that he’s staring at the screen again, wondering why today of all days everybody seemed to want to talk to him, when he had just been analyzing results all day. Not contributing to cases or anything. Did he smell really nice or something?

He stops and lifts one sleeve up to his nose, taking a deep sniff.

Whew. Definitely not that.

 

..........

 

The alarm clock Greg has set to go off rings shrilly, marking the end of his shift. Greg slams his hand down on it, effectively cutting off the annoying (if welcome) sound, then stands up from where he’d been hunched over his desk and stretches. His back pops satisfyingly, and he relaxes before bone-deep weariness hits him in a rush and he staggers a little.

Greg blinks at the desk in front of him, which he’s clinging to. “Must be more tired than I thought,” he says to himself with a frown.

He lets go of the desk and reaches for his lab coat, draped over the back of his chair. Then he turns and makes his way out of the lab, flicking off the light as he goes. The next DNA technician, the one from day shift, periodically runs late. Probably because they like to sleep in, so Greg almost always ends up shutting the lab down completely.

He walks down the hallway, which always becomes eerily quiet this time of day. Everyone from night shift tries to head out as fast as possible, in order to try and hit up every restaurant and bar in the vicinity before the breakfast crowds start showing up. There’s a place not far from the building with amazing belgian waffles that opens at seven exactly, and for a moment Greg debates heading over to grab some dinner-breakfast mashup.

In the end he decides against it, simply because he wants to head home and it’s not worth staying out any later. He’s tired enough as it is, and he knows full well the dangers of driving distracted or half-asleep. He unlocks his locker and grabs his jacket and backpack, pulling both on before he makes his way out of the building into the unexpectedly chilly early morning.

Spring is almost here, but winter’s lingering with a vengeance, and Greg draws his jacket closer around himself, zipping it up as a gust of air passes by and leaves him shivering. It’s only a minute’s walk to his car, and he pulls off his backpack as he walks, holding it in front of him and awkwardly digging in one of the front pockets for his keys.

He walks up alongside his Jetta just as he finally manages to pull his keys free from where they’d been tangled with the cords to his headphones, and smiles triumphantly for a minute. Then, suddenly, his joy is replaced with an overwhelming sense of shock and confusion.

“What the fuck?” He says, not catching the swear in time and forgetting all about the language policy that Grissom tries to enforce as he stares at his car.

“What the hell happened?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was way more of a struggle than any of the others, probably because I was trying to mess with the pacing a little. The first couple sections are during Greg's work hours and mostly involve dialogue, while the last section became way more descriptive with a lot less dialogue and some more world-building. Also, real life isn't being very nice to me right now, so when I finished this I just ran it through a spell-checker before I posted it here. I hope to god it's in the right tense and everything. *Sighs* I really need my beta back, but she's been awfully busy too. Whoever said life wasn't fair made a vast understatement. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this and don't hate me too much!


	6. Chapter 6

Nick is clocking out at the end of a spectacularly long day, one foot out the door and practically home free, when a hand closes around his upper arm and forcibly drags him back into the building.

He lets out a short yelp at the manhandling. Normally he would put up more of a protest at being hauled inside and around a corner, but he’s tired and overworked and just wants whoever this is to talk to him and be done with it.

Nick turns as the grip on him loosens and comes face-to-face with Sara, who has a strange sort of smile on her face, like she’s done something strange and unexpected and expects him to be appropriately awed by it- while also pretending whatever has just happened was no trouble at all. She leans forward and lowers her voice, and Nick leans in too, to better hear what she’s about to say.

“I slashed Greg’s tires,” Sara says in a low tone, looking expectantly at him.

Nick blinks and takes a moment to process that odd statement, then-

“What?” He whispers furiously back. “Sara, I swear that had better be a joke, even if it’s a bad one!”

“It’s not,” Sara says affably. “Stop panicking. I checked his insurance, and it covers slashed tires if he files a claim in at least a week, which should be no trouble with the hours he works.” Nick gapes at her, and she leans even closer, smile spreading into a smirk. “So guess what?”

“What?” Nick says hesitantly.

“Now you get to drive Greg home,” Sara says, and walks past him and out the door.

“Have you ever heard of a cab?” Nick shouts after her in frustration, saying the first vaguely retort-like thing that comes to his mind. His mind is still spinning in circles when the doors are pushed open again barely seconds later and a very familiar, and very angry, face storms in.

Greg is running a hand agitatedly through his hair, tapping the phone in his hand against his thigh. He’s obviously stressed, and yet instead of asking him what’s wrong, Nick opens his mouth and “Didn’t you have to go see Catherine in the break room after shift?” comes spilling out instead.

Greg turns to look at him. “What?”

“I said, didn’t you need to visit Cath in the break room after shift?” Nick repeats, trying not to notice how the bruisingly cold wind outside has made Greg’s face turn just slightly pink.

Greg lets out a groan and drops his head, letting it sag against his chest. “Oh, right, yeah,” he says, and flashes a wan smile at Nick. “Sorry, little distracted, disaster in the parking lot- somebody slashed my car’s tires.”

Nick tries to fight back a wince and fails. “Oh, woah. That’s… uh… bad.” And also his fault. Dammit, Sara.

“Hell yeah it is!” Greg exclaims, voice rising in pitch. “Those tires are going to take days to replace, I’m stuck here without a ride home, I was supposed to actually be home ages ago, I don’t even know if my insurance will cover it, and-”

“Why don’t you go see what Catherine wants?” Nick says, interrupting him mid-rant. When Greg stops his tirade and looks at Nick in confusion, the older male shrugs his shoulders and reiterates. “Go see Catherine. She wanted to see you, get that out of the way. Then, once you’re done, I can help call you a cab or, um-” Nick pauses, remembering Sara’s words from earlier. “Or I could give you a ride home.”

Greg blinks at him, then nods. When he speaks again, it’s in normal volume. “In the break room?” He asks. Nick nods.

“Okay, I’m going to go talk to Catherine,” Greg says, and starts to walk away. Halfway down the hallway, he spins back around and points at Nick. “And I am taking you up on that offer, so no take backs while I’m gone!”

As he disappears through the break room doors, through which Catherine can be seen reading over some files, Nick finds himself breaking into a small smile. Dubiously legal as it is, maybe there’s a method to Sara’s madness after all.

Doesn’t mean he won’t be having a serious conversation with her about damaging the property of the other employees who work here. Seriously, if that’s her seduction technique, no wonder she can’t manage to flirt with Grissom. It goes so far over his head he’d need a ten-foot ladder to see it.


End file.
